


Like the Chaos After a Storm

by serendipitysnape



Series: In the Stillness of Memory [2]
Category: The Great Library Series - Rachel Caine
Genre: Comic Relief, Fluff and Humor, Hurt/Comfort, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Trauma Recovery
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-23
Updated: 2019-11-21
Packaged: 2020-12-28 18:45:03
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 10,002
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21141443
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/serendipitysnape/pseuds/serendipitysnape
Summary: Post - Sword and Pen One-Shots between Santi and the kidsIn which Lord Commander Niccolo Santi’s attempt at spending “quality bonding time” with Sergeant Glain Wathen results in the delivery of both comatose parties to Scholar Christopher Wolfe’s doorstep in the dead of night.Enjoy some comic relief with a side of post-Morgan trauma recovery. Forewarning, you can hope to expect a skirmish or two – it is Glain’s story after all.





	1. Chapter 1

Scholar Christopher Wolfe nearly jumped out of his skin when he heard the pounding on the front door. Even after all the months that had passed, he still froze at the thought of the Elite Garda coming back to drag him kicking and screaming from the apartment that he and Captain Santi shared. But after a few deep and terrifying breaths, Wolfe was able to calm himself enough to stand and answer.

He scrubbed at his face with one trembling hand, pausing briefly to check the hour on his codex, which had clattered to the table at the sound of the door. Just past midnight. His heart skipped a beat as he looked over at the empty bed, Nic had said something about working late, maybe even a training drill, but at the time Chris had been in the midst of reading a footnote that subtly referenced Archimedes’ lesser known, “The Quadrature of a Parabola.” A footnote that, if accurate, would likely give Wolfe a leg up in his most recent debate with Thomas regarding the relevancy of a certain geometrical theorem. Ever since Brightwell had confessed to Schreiber about his role in the consumption of “On Sphere-Making,” both of his former postulants had decided to make pestering Wolfe with philosophical questions their main prerogative. Chris smiled. All that to say that Nic’s exact words about his whereabouts for the evening had escaped him.

The pounding started again, and this time Wolfe could hear the faint sound of singing coming from the other side of the otherwise unoffending wood. A knot of anxiety dislodged itself from its constant home beneath Wolfe’s ribcage. Drunken Nic? This was something that Christopher had not seen a very long while. Possibly even since their own errant postulant days. Chris grinned. Oh yes, he would revisit the words of Archimedes later, there were many more exciting things that could be _studied_ with a drunken Niccolo.

No longer driven by fear, his blood heated pleasantly at the thought of entertaining the happily intoxicated High Garda Captain on the other side of his door. Oh yes. Chris licked his lips and unlocked the last two locks that barred their door from intruders. But when he wrenched it open, it wasn’t Nic on the other side, no, it was Troll, Botha, and a motley assortment of Blue Dogs in various states of intoxication.

“What is the meaning of this?” Wolfe barked at them with enough bite to make even the sober ones jump to attention.

“Urm, well, Sir,” even Troll, Santi’s second in command seemed to be having trouble explaining the situation.

“Explain.” Wolfe hissed, immediately irritated at himself for losing control. “Now.” His eyes narrowed, and he saw one of the other, more drunken soldiers giggling in the back. The man’s whisper carried enough for Wolfe to get the gist of the conversation.

“—‘s a hot one, that Scholar. Must be why Santi shacks up wit ‘em an all that.”

Wolfe glared at the man, inwardly laughing at the fool who thought his rage made him more attractive. He’d have to remember to tell Nic later so they could devise a suitable punishment.

Botha stepped forward. “My apologies for the interruption, Scholar, but it’s Lord Commander Santi and Sergeant Wathen.” Wolfe’s heart stopped in his chest. The cruel muscle literally stopped transporting blood to his brain as his mind immediately filled itself with all of the things that could go wrong at a mere training exercise. Botha must have seen the horror, or perhaps the terror in Wolfe’s face, because he rushed to reassure him. “No, no, sir, sorry sir, its nothing like that, its just…” He stopped awkwardly and motioned to two of the Blue Dogs in the back.

Wolfe felt weak for the sheer rush of relief he felt as he saw the two idiots laying in a pile on the flatbed hand cart that one of the Blue Dogs must have re-appropriated from the kitchens. _His_ two idiots, he amended mentally. Aloud, Wolfe merely sighed and said rather mildly, “I see.” He stepped back and opened their front door just a bit wider. “Do bring them in, Lieutenant. I’ll see that both of them are taken care of.”

Santi’s second in command, Tom Rolleson, “Troll” for short, proceeded to push the flatbed through the doorway and into the quarters that Wolfe and Santi shared. As soon as he had gotten all four wheels past the door he gave a hasty bow and an enthusiastic salute to a now very dangerous looking Wolfe, and left him standing there beside the heap of pathetic looking soldier. Wolfe was almost too irritated to step forward and lock the door again. Almost.

There was a part of him, albeit a rather small part, that found the situation slightly adorable, (not that he would ever admit it of course). Nic was curled protectively around Glain who, Wolfe observed, looked only slightly less menacing in the throes of sleep. He grinned a bit wickedly as he considered his options, time to wake up the errand children and determine what sort of trouble they had gotten themselves in to this time!

Wolfe would admit later, much much later, that it hadn’t been truly necessary for him to make the jug of water quite so cold, but he truly hadn’t been pleased to be scared witless twice in one night. Perhaps if he hadn’t been hoping for Nic’s return home to move in another, more pleasurable direction he might have simply covered the two imbeciles with a blanket and left them alone until morning. But Wolfe was often referred to as a Bastard, with a capital "B" (not in Santi’s hearing of course) and to be honest, Wolfe rather liked the epithet. Until recently when he had reunited with Eskander, Wolfe had always wondered if he was in fact a literal bastard, and honestly the thought had bothered him less than it probably should have. But he digressed.

Standing back at a decent distance, Wolfe tossed the contents of the water jug over Santi and Wathen, and waited. He didn’t need to wait very long at all.

Santi got to his feet with a roar, reaching for a dagger that Wolfe had already removed and placed on their bedside table. Glain was standing only moments later, immediately moving into a crouch to guard Santi’s back from attack. However, while Wolfe may have anticipated that Santi would immediately reach for a weapon if awoken, what he couldn’t have planned for was the fish that Santi pulled out of his boot in lieu of his back-up knife. A fish.

Wolfe couldn’t help it. He wasn’t sure if it was the look of surprise on Nic’s face when he pulled the squirming thing up by the tail, or if it was the look of utter confusion on Glain’s face when she saw Nic try to wield the slippery creature like an actual weapon. But the sound of Wolfe’s laughter was probably louder than the drunken revelry occurring on the streets outside. The laughter felt good. Chris couldn’t remember the last time he had laughed like that. It almost, almost made him want to let Nic off the hook for stopping his heart in the first place.

Glain, being that she was not in any way an actual idiot, was smart enough to use the fish-diversion as the golden opportunity it was – her only chance at escape. But before she slipped out the front door, Chris stopped laughing long enough to see her bump her shoulder against Nic’s with a small smile. “Thanks,” she mouthed to him, ducking her head in a very un-Glainlike gesture. If Chris didn’t know better he would have thought the girl had actually blushed when Nic proceeded to grin and salute her with the hand full of fish. He did however, know better.

Looking over at Santi, Wolfe wondered if he might get that pleasant ending he had hoped for after all. The man was positively preening, and when his eyes lit on Chris, Santi’s grin was so feral that it made Wolfe shiver in response. “My love,” Wolfe said with a smile, “I highly suggest you put that little fishey down before you try to start anything of that nature.” Chris was himself a little shocked that so pedestrian of a word as “fishey” had escaped his mouth, but it was entirely worth it to see Nic stare back down at his hand in surprise.

Wolfe sighed, walking toward the kitchen sink to find a bowl to fill for their new friend. “Here,” he held out the punch bowl that Khalila had given the two of them as a thank you gift a few months back and gestured for Santi to place the fish inside. They watched it splash happily for a moment before the reality of the situation took precedence in Wolfe’s mind yet again.

“Christopher.” The way Santi said his name made Wolfe want to forget that both of his soldiers had arrived at the apartment via flatbed. There was a playful heat in Santi’s gaze that Wolfe hadn’t seen for a long while now, and that look alone was enough to break through the remnants of Christopher’s reluctance. Nic pulled his wet tunic over his head and the white undershirt followed close behind, he kicked off his boots as he went. Chris felt his mouth go dry at the look on Nic’s face. Hungry. That was the word he wanted. Nic looked Hungry. 

“Dance with me Christopher.” Santi took one step towards him, and Wolfe wanted nothing more than to step into his arms. What did it matter what Nic and Glain had been up to? Unfortunately, that was when Chris noticed the blood that was coursing down Santi’s right thigh and pooling beneath his feet, blood that Chris hadn’t seen earlier, as he’d been distracted by the incident with the fish.

Santi grinned again, and Wolfe wanted to shake him in response. Blood, there was so much blood. “Love, you’re bleeding. Are you hurt somewhere?” Chris tried to make his voice low and comforting but the last dregs of his patience was wearing far too thin. It didn’t matter though, because Nic appeared to be ignoring him regardless.

“Christopher, she was magnificent.” Santi stared at something far away that Wolfe couldn’t see, so Chris used the distraction to take a few steps forward. And then, Wolfe was in Santi’s arms, running his hands over his lover’s body, not to arouse, but to seek out the wound that appeared to be generating so much blood. The bright battle-fever made Nic’s eyes glassy, but Chris ignored that to focus on the issue at hand. Blood. So much. Too much. And then he found it, a deep open gash that curved around the man’s waist, crossed his lower back, and dipped down past the waistband of his pants. Chris hissed in sympathy, the wound was deep enough that it might require the care of a medica after all.

“Oh gods, Nic! What on earth were the two of you idiots doing?”

Santi swayed on his feet, blood loss turning his face grey with pain and exhaustion. “Even half-unconscious, our girl fought like a devil. Glain ’s worth her weight ‘n gold Chris. Gold. I like that one, she’s gold...” Nic slurred the words out and then trailed off, still grinning to himself. Wolfe wanted nothing more than to strangle the man for inciting the rollercoaster of need, desire, fear and hope that were currently warring for dominance in Christopher’s mind.

But before he could berate him, Nic pitched forward and Wolfe just barely managed to lever both of them safely to the ground before Nic promptly passed out, lying half on top of Wolfe, and half in a still-warm pool of his own blood.

Scholar Christopher Wolfe was not pleased. No, he was not pleased at all.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _But before he could berate him, Nic pitched forward and Wolfe just barely managed to lever both of them safely to the ground before Nic promptly passed out, lying half on top of Wolfe, and half in a still-warm pool of his own blood._
> 
> _Scholar Christopher Wolfe was not pleased. No, he was not pleased at all._

Sergeant Glain Wathen came into wakefulness slowly, but something in the air made her hackles rise. Some unknown party was in her room with her. She forced herself to relax her breathing in an imitation of sleep, and she thought about the weapons that were available to her for the primary purpose of discouraging intruders. In closest proximity, there were a few options to chose from. First option, the knife beneath her pillow that had once belonged to her eldest brother, and second, the two razor thin blades hidden in the wrist sheaths that lay against the flat of her arms. Her third defense included a boot knife she had won in a game of dice, and of course the dagger that had been a gift from Wolfe and Santi in celebration of her promotion to Sergeant. Within the bed itself, Glain stored both her collection of throwing stars and a spool of strangling wire, while beneath the mattress her favorite throwing axe awaited its chance to see battle. And she had not even counted the staff, pike and practice sword that hung in the corner of her High Garda room, and a bull whip she had borrowed from Santi barely a few nights ago.

Glain’s blood thrummed. 

Unlike most of the other members of their odd, family-like unit, the only thing that made Glain happier than listing the weapons she had at her disposal was actually getting the opportunity to put those weapons to good use. So of course she was rather pleased that some unsuspecting fool had chosen _her_ quarters to creep into, although Khalila would probably tell her that it was inappropriate of her to admit that. Truthfully, Glain would have bared her teeth if she could, but then she remembered that she was supposed to be feigning sleep. She forced herself to roll over leisurely, as if stretching limbs that were stiff with disuse. Her right hand crept beneath the pillow and fluffed it, and Glain yawned as she wrapped her fingers around the hilt of the knife that lay there.

However, just as she was preparing to spring up from the bed and attack, she felt the prick of a blade against the base of her spine and another at the base of her neck. There was still a chance that she could flip over and take whoever was standing above her bed, but with paralysis as an alternative, Glain did not like her options. She growled, low and deep. No sense in pretending to be asleep anymore.

“Don’t even think about it Wathen.” The voice might have been darker and drier than usual, but Glain would recognize it anywhere. It looked like she wouldn’t be gutting anyone today after all. Glain opened her eyes and rolled slightly before speaking, fingers reluctantly letting go of the blade in her hand.

“Good morning Scholar.”

A murderous looking Christopher Wolfe stood above her bed and he certainly didn’t look like his morning was beginning very well at all.

_________________________________________________________________

Truthfully, Christopher Wolfe was indeed experiencing a morning that had simply gone from bad to worse. As he glared down at his usually rather restrained former-postulant, Wolfe wondered how much simpler his life would be if he hadn’t somehow seen fit to unofficially adopt all six of the children. In that respect, in hindsight it was his fault that Nic had been off spending quality time with Glain in the first place.

He sighed. Wolfe abhorred mysteries. He enjoyed puzzles, yes, but that was because puzzles promised intrigue, challenge, and most-importantly, solutions! In Christopher’s estimation, more often then not, a successful mystery was one that remained just that, a mystery. Simply another question with no explanation as to the how or the why, and no closure to be had at all.

The events of last night had left Wolfe with far more questions than he had answers, and that thought alone was enough to infuriate him. Of course, he had been up half the night tending to Santi’s wounds, wounds that in the end did end up requiring the assistance of a medica. The same medica who had taken one look at Santi’s back and had clucked her tongue at Wolfe as though the injury was _his_ fault.

In short, Christopher was tired, hungry, worried about Nic, irritated that he still wasn’t quite sure what exactly had happened last night, and then he had received the codex messages this morning that had sent him stalking to Wathen’s quarters in the barracks armed and dangerous.

Out of the corner of his eye Wolfe watched Wathen studying him carefully, the same way he had seen her study any potential problem (or for that matter, threat). Wolfe had always admired her focus, but right now he didn’t feel at all steady enough to deal with the full brunt of her attention. 

“Sir?” the tall girl said carefully, “Might I offer you some tea?” In any other circumstance it would have been comical to see a girl such as Glain offering to put on a pot of tea, but in Wolfe’s world it had become commonplace for all of the children to keep servings of the mint tea Wolfe favored in their pantry stores. It was their unofficial way of fussing over him without fussing, and if pressed, Wolfe might even allow himself to admit that there was a comfort in sharing a cup of tea with one of his six former postulants. He realized that Glain was still waiting for his response. He gave a curt nod and ran a hand over his face. If Glain could see his cracks so clearly this morning then it was obvious that he was worse off than he thought.

Wathen swiftly and efficiently got out of bed, pulled on her High Garda uniform and set a pot of tea to boil while Wolfe settled himself at her table.

“Thank you,” he murmured, wrapping his trembling fingers around the steaming cup.

Glain merely nodded. “Of course.” She looked at him expectantly and Wolfe felt as though he was watching her internal debate, to join him at the table, or stand at the ready. Even now the children still looked to him for direction more often then not, and that errand thought warmed him more than the tea.

“You know why I’m here then?” Wolfe wanted to let the girl off the hook, but there was far too much at stake for him not to address the sheer unacceptable risk that she and Santi must have taken. For Heron’s sake, the matter had been brought to his attention via Codex message by multiple sources. It was up to him to speak with her.

“About last night.” Glain did not sit, but stood in a ready position as though she was waiting for the axe of punishment to fall.

Wolfe took a sip of the tea warming his hands, and tried his best not to grimace. Glain had many skills, but it seemed she had attempted to add the entire mint bush to his single mug of hot liquid.

He forced himself to take another sip as Glain continued, “But Sir, we don’t need to give the money back do we? Santi and I won that bet fair and square.” Glain stared at Wolfe with as serious an expression as he had ever seen on her, “And do you think we should write a formal letter of apology for the moat?”

A stream of hot tea sprayed out of his mouth and Wolfe wheezed, painfully inhaling a few swallows by mistake. “You _what?”_ Wolfe pushed himself up from the table and straightened his robe to regain some composure. “What money? A bet? And to whom should you apologize?” His scowl darkened, “And what is this about a moat?”

Glain flinched a bit, no other word for it. His strong, dauntless soldier flinched.

There was only one way to resolve this.

“With me, Wathen,” he barked the command brusquely and didn’t need to look behind him to know that Glain had fallen in obediently at his heels. This was getting ridiculous. It was time to wake Santi up and figure out what the fuck had actually happened after all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _“Glain’s eyes sparkled. Her cheeks blushed. Glain Wathen craved a good fight the way most yearned for love or money.”_ – Smoke and Iron


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _“With me, Wathen,” he barked the command brusquely and didn’t need to look behind him to know that Glain had fallen in obediently at his heels. This was getting ridiculous. It was time to wake Santi up and figure out what the fuck had actually happened after all._

Christopher Wolfe used to consider himself to be a rather reasonable man. In fact, for years now his life was one that most would consider to be rather predictable. He woke up every morning, kissed Nic goodbye, made for the Great Library, and once there, proceeded to lose himself in research until he was sent home, or until Nic came to collect him. Chris would then ramble on for a bit about whatever new research project he had devoted his time to until Nic’s eyes began to glaze over a bit, and then Chris would take it upon himself to make Nic’s eyes darken in a different way. And if he was very lucky, which he often was, Chris would get to have his dessert before dinner.

There was nothing reasonable about Wolfe’s current situation.

As of ten minutes ago, Wolfe was now pacing back and forth in the kitchen that he and Santi shared. He was doing his best to stare at Santi and Wathen without looking like he was actually staring at them, but his efforts were thoroughly negated by the fact that Nic was currently grinning in his direction rather unrepentantly.

“What on earth is so amusing Niccolo?” Wolfe hated himself for asking, and hated himself twofold for asking in that tone, but there were just too many things that were not making sense to him right now.

Santi pointed at the fancy punch bowl that was now home to the fish he had pulled out of his shoe last night. Glain whooped. She whooped with enthusiasm. And the sound scared Christopher half to death.

“Ha!” She gaped at the fish, mouth open and hands flat against the table. For Glain this was so expressive she might as well have been screaming with laughter. “How in Heron’s name did that blasted thing even survive?”

Santi shrugged, but his grin didn’t fade even the slightest. “Well, it is a _Spanish_ fish after all. You’ll have to ask Dario what they feed those things!” Wolfe watched Santi and Glain share a look that he couldn’t decipher. 

“Enough about the damn fish.” Wolfe could feel his blood pressure rising. He was trying to be calm. He had already had 3 cups of tea, although now that he thought about it perhaps that hadn’t been such a good idea either. He took another, deeper breath. In and out. In and out. “If you are both done oogling the _ichthys_ that is currently residing in our punch bowl, one of you had best start talking. In fact, I think you’d better start this story from the beginning.”

Santi cleared his throat and smiled at Wolfe. “Of course love, I’ll go first.” Wolfe felt a little of his tension release at the term of endearment and he motioned for Nic to continue.

“As you know, I left our apartment early yesterday evening and headed into town to meet Sergeant Wathen here and her Blue Dogs.” Nic nodded in Glain’s direction, who was wearing a rather smug grin of her own. “I don’t remember the name of the bar we started in, but Troll was last in on practice drills so first round was on him. Now that I think about it, second round was on him too. It was a dingy little dive bar near the water that was so full of sailors it was more boat than bar, but Botha’s got his eye on the bartender so we didn’t have much of a choice.” 

Wolfe sat down across Glain and started on his fourth cup of tea, considering the story. “So, both of you became intoxicated at this point and were too inebriated to embrace good judgement from here onward?”

“Actually, no Sir.” Glain looked at Santi. “May I cut in?”

“Of course,” Nic said, gesturing in Wolfe’s direction. “Go ahead.”

“Yes Sir, it’s true that we were in a bar, and yes, there were drinks, and drinking. But Commander Santi and I —”

“NIC.” Both Santi and Wolfe cut her off at exactly the same time and Chris nudged Nic with his knee under the table. Santi got the message, because he cleared his throat and looked back at Glain. “Sorry Wathen, please continue.”

“Well, as I was saying, Commander Santi and I did not partake in any shots while we were at the bar. Troll ordered all of the Blue Dogs something called a Smoking Nipple to start off, but —“ Glain paused for a moment and Wolfe watched something flicker over her face before her expression smoothed and hardened. She took a breath, and when she spoke again there wasn’t the slightest quaver. “But I am not interested in drinking anything that’s on fire ever again.” Her eyes looked dead and haunted and Wolfe wondered if she was smelling burning books and greek fire. He wondered if she too was remembering Morgan standing at the doorway of the Great Archives wearing a coat of flames.

Wolfe felt something warm beneath his trembling fingers and opened his eyes, although he hadn’t been aware he had even closed them. Nic was pushing his mug into his hand, and had poured a cup of fresh tea for Glain as well. 

“Drink.” Nic advised, grasping Wolfe’s other hand between two of his own and brushing a thumb over his knuckles. “Today is a day for laughter and pride, not tears and shame. We are all safe here.” Chris let himself focus on the feeling of the hot liquid flowing down his throat, the smell of mint filling his nose, and the sound of Nic’s voice as he continued the story.

“I saw Sergeant Wathen sneak out the door—“

“I was getting some air!” Glain jumped back in to protest the implication.

“And yes,” Nic rolled his eyes, “I assumed that she was getting some air. Unfortunately, that is when we first ran into trouble.” Wolfe was tickled to find that Santi actually looked rather excited to tell him the story of their adventure. “I walked out to find Glain being assaulted by a group of English sailors. There were about twelve of them and one of her, and they had her boxed up against the dock.”

“What!” Wolfe looked over at Glain who looked like the cat who had just eaten the canary. 

“It’s true,” Glain confirmed. “I, er, well, I may have made a comment or two about English scum loud enough for all of them to hear. And I may have also made a few comments about their mothers.” Instead of looking reticent, Glain wore a look of relaxed satisfaction, and Santi looked rather proud. “So of course they came at me, and I barely had enough time to bash a few heads together before Santi came over and ended the fight.”

“It’s true.” Nic smirked, “I saw Wathen handing them their asses and I was bored so I decided to join in. Of course I knew she could handle them. It was only twelve of them after all, and they were English.”

“So is this how you got the flesh wound?” To be honest, Chris thought this sounded like any other night out with the Garda, and he actually wasn’t at all sure what the fuss was about.

“Well, no. Glain and I only beat them a little before we rejoined the Blue Dogs, and we didn’t even break a sweat.”

Wolfe felt a migraine coming on.

“Anyway, this must have been around the time we ran into Jess and Thomas who just so happened to be doing a pub crawl in honor of the unveiling of Thomas’s latest project. As you can imagine, the boys invited all of us to come and experience the project for ourselves, but we didn’t realize it would be quite so, well, hands on.” Santi stopped to take a sip of tea and Glain continued where he left off.

“Of course Sir, you have to understand that by now Botha had already put up a round for whoever could take him down in an arm wrestling competition, so Commander Santi and I had to play a few rounds to put him in his place.”

Wolfe could see the picture coming together now. Drunken Jess and Thomas cheering on Nic and Glain as they thrashed the entire company for arm-wrestling-bragging-rights. He almost, almost wished he had been there to see it. “Is that how you won the money then?”

“Erm.” Glain looked at Santi and then back at Wolfe and then at Santi again.

“No my love,” Nic squeezed his hand and smiled. When he did that, Chris knew that he would forgive him anything. “We won the money when we went to the Iron Tower to test out Thomas’s new toy. Glain actually volunteered to ride it first, but Dario and Khalila had already beaten us there to try it out. That’s where the trouble started.”

“Even Khalila was there?” Now Wolfe did feel slightly left out. He pulled his fingers out of Nic’s hold and took yet another sip of tea. His head ached.

“Well Sir, we didn’t actually know that Khalila was there. You see, she was in disguise because Dario had snuck her out of the Library without any of her personal guards. All of that was fine, really, but it took a rather long time to kidnap an obscurist and convince him to help us wake up Thomas’s machine.”

Wolfe merely sighed. “Please allow me to clarify what has happened so far. You went to a bar, beat up some English sailors, won a few arm wrestling rounds, and then you, you went to, you thought it would be fun to go to,” He could barely force himself to say the words, but he did, and they came out in a hiss, “the Iron Tower.” The thought of something going wrong and everyone he loved being swallowed by the tower. Nic had been there last night. Without him. All the children had been there. Chris could feel the beginnings of an anxiety attack coming on, and he didn’t want Glain to see him in such a state. Or Nic right now for that matter. Chris stood up, his legs beginning to go numb as the nausea rose.

Nic looked at him. Just looked at him, into him, through him. “Christopher, my darling why don’t you step out and go for a walk? I think some air might do you good. We can continue the story when you return.” He knew. Nic knew. The feeling of being loved and understood washed over Wolfe like a blanket and he gave himself permission to not be as ok as he would like.

Glain’s voice was the last thing that Wolfe heard before he stepped out the front door of their living quarters. “Sir, does this mean we probably shouldn’t tell him that Thomas built a bull automaton for all of us to ride?”

Wolfe left before he heard Santi’s reply.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _“I’ve been a professional soldier all my life, and I can only think of half a dozen I’d pick to have by my side in a brawl. Glain is in that number.”_ – Smoke and Iron


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Glain’s voice was the last thing that Wolfe heard before he stepped out the front door of their living quarters. “Sir, does this mean we probably shouldn’t tell him that Thomas built a bull automaton for all of us to ride?”_
> 
> _Wolfe left before he heard Santi’s reply._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As this humorous adventure comes to a close, this chapter offers less levity and more reality as Wolfe faces the true reason all of them are struggling in the first place. The next chapter will most likely be the final one as I give all of us some closure about the moat, the bull, the fishey, and all the trouble that Nic and Glain went looking for (and found).

A walk outside was exactly what Wolfe needed. He breathed the clean afternoon air and found himself a bench in the garden to sit on. He wasn’t sure why he was struggling so much with this situation. He should be happy, as it was him after all who had pushed Santi to spend more time with the children. Was it fear? Fear that when Troll had showed up at his door in the dead of night and told Wolfe that he was there about Nic and Glain, Chris had immediately thought that they had been taken from him. Fear that his worst nightmare had come true and Santi was bleeding to death in his arms while Chris was helpless to save him. Or maybe it was simply resignation that two of the bravest people he knew were so incredibly reckless with their own lives with absolutely no thought for Wolfe (or anyone else for that matter).

Wolfe pulled out his codex and continued breathing, slow, steady breaths. In and out. In and out. Before Rome, Christopher would have been the first one to get on Thomas’s bull automata. Ok, maybe not the first (that would have been Nic!) But he certainly would have summoned up all his courage and held on for dear life. Pre-Rome-Christopher would have thrilled at the thought of mastering such a beautiful machine. Non-broken-Christopher would have welcomed the chance at a new adventure, but now it sometimes felt like Rome had become everything: his past, his present, and his future.

Chris had seen the spark in Nic’s eyes when his lover had thrown his arms open and invited Chris to dance with him. It was a spark that Christopher was willing to do just about anything to rekindle. Chris gathered all of his courage and penned a swift Codex note, then he forced himself to take another breath and re-read all of the missives that he had received earlier. Perhaps, he thought to himself, reading the words of his former postulants would help him to get a clearer picture of last night’s events.

Messages filled the screen of his Codex and Wolfe forced down the fear that had gathered like a lump in his throat. Of course Brightwell had been the first to check-in, that didn’t surprise Wolfe in the slightest. The message from Thomas had been rather cryptic at first, but now that Wolfe knew about the bull automaton everything made much more sense. Dario and Khalila were next, and he wasn’t sure why they had chosen to send separate missives at all when one would have sufficed. It was the message from his father that had ultimately sent Wolfe storming to Glain’s quarters with murder on his mind. But Wolfe was nothing if not stubborn, so he set himself to task at re-reading the missives that had his hands shaking and his heart racing.

______________________________________

**Text of a letter from Jess Brightwell to Scholar Christopher Wolfe. Classified Private correspondence, not indexed in the Codex.**

Good morning Sir,  
I just wanted to check in to see if Santi & Glain were alright. Last night ended up being of a much larger scale than we anticipated, and I know that Commander Santi was injured. Please keep me updated on his recovery.  
Thanks,  
Jess

______________________________________

**Text of a letter from Scholar Thomas Schreiber to Scholar Christopher Wolfe. Classified Private correspondence, not indexed in the Codex.**

If possible, when you have some free time, would you mind reviewing the calculations for my latest automata? Jess mentioned last night that you might have some insight on how to make it, well, less… Erm, perhaps if you don’t mind you could just come take a look yourself Sir?

______________________________________

**Text of a letter from the Archivist Magister Khalila Seif head of the Great Library of Alexandria to Scholar Christopher Wolfe. Classified Private correspondence, not indexed in the Codex. Marked URGENT. Restricted Viewing.**

Dear Scholar Wolfe,

Unfortunately, as the Archivist of the Great Library, the duty falls to me to inform you of the political misunderstanding that occurred as a direct result of actions taken by Lord Commander Niccolo Santi and Sergeant Glain Wathen late yesterday evening.

It appears as though a gathering was held at the Iron Tower at which the majority of your former postulants as well as Lord Commander Santi and the High Garda squadron known as the “Blue Dogs” were in attendance.

While the gathering was in it of itself not in blatant disregard of the laws and restrictions that allow for the safety of all people within Alexandria, unfortunately a few of the party members were injured during their attempt at participation. Said participation will not be detailed in this letter, however, I do expect a full accounting to be made to you at a time of your convenience. In any case, reparations will be made to King Ramon Alfonse of Spain on behalf of Lord Commander Santi and rest assured that I as Archivist of the Great Library will see his moat repaired to the best of our ability.

Therefore, it goes without saying that I do not have to extoll the dangers of using such esteemed mechanical works as Automata for personal pleasures. I expect that you will be exchanging words with Lord Commander Santi and I do hope that you can impress upon him the importance that such risks not be undertaken again within the jurisdiction of his command.

Thank you for your time and attention to this correspondence, please note that viewing has been restricted for safety purposes. The text from this missive will cease to exist in your codex after 48 hours. Should you have any questions, comments or concerns, please do not hesitate to contact myself or my staff directly.

Sincerely,  
Khalila

______________________________________

**Secondary text of a coded, self-deleting Codex message from the Archivist Magister Khalila Seif head of the Great Library of Alexandria to Scholar Christopher Wolfe. Marked URGENT.**

PS- I do hope that you will come take tea with me soon. You are missed and I hope you are well.  
PPS- <strike>Dario asks that I extend his greetings and well wishes.</strike> Dario says hi.  
PPPS - Yes, Dario is staring over my shoulder as I write this.  
PPPPS- This is Dario now - you missed a great party - come to the next one and I’ll buy you a drink Sir! I’ll expect you to try the bull though. Santi did. ;)

______________________________________

**Text of a letter from Obscurist Maximus Eskander to Scholar Christopher Wolfe, marked URGENT. Private correspondence, not available in the Codex, destroyed upon receipt.**

Son, Your children have all decided to join me for a brief visit. They have had a very enjoyable time. Please come and collect them immediately. --E

______________________________________

Although Wolfe now found himself smirking at his father’s words, he had not been laughing this morning when he had opened his codex to nothing short of a thinly veiled threat. Instead of the warmth that now seemed to be gathering in his heart when he thought of what his errant troublemakers had been up to, Chris had stormed off to collect Glain and shake the story out of her before he had even truly thought about what had actually happened. And look where that had landed him. The garden bench beneath him was not at all conducive to promoting good posture, and Wolfe twisted, his back shifting with a crack and a pop.

There was one final message blinking up at Wolfe from his Codex. This one hadn’t been there this morning, or if it had Wolfe had refused to acknowledge it. It was a message that Wolfe was afraid to open. A message that he could never show to Nic. If he clicked on it, Wolfe knew that it would disappear immediately after, and a part of him wanted to keep the message on his Codex forever, as though if he never read it she would still be with him, still be alive.

Wolfe took a breath. He might sometimes feel as though he was ruled by his fear, as though the horrors of Rome would never truly be washed from his skin. But Scholar Christopher Wolfe was no coward. He clicked on the message and watched as text began to blink up at him from the screen in his hands.

______________________________________

**Text of a coded, self-deleting Codex message manipulated from within the Iron Tower to be hidden from observation, addressed to Scholar Christopher Wolfe. Erased upon receipt.**

Just for the record. I had nothing to do with it. Eskander handled everything.

______________________________________

Wolfe laughed.

He couldn’t help it. He threw his head back and laughed loudly, not entirely sure what he was laughing at. It felt so good to let his muscles release, good to let himself feel something other than guilt and pain and grief. Even now Morgan was reminding him that she was not gone. She was reminding him that she had made a choice, not to leave them, leave him, but to finally be free.

Her words blinked up at him for another moment and then began to fade away. Surprisingly, Wolfe felt better than he had in days. He was ready to head back inside and hear the rest of the story. In fact, instead of the overwhelming panic he had felt earlier, Chris found that he wanted very much to hear more about Thomas’s mechanical bull. He wanted to know more about whatever trouble Nic had gotten himself into with the Spaniards, and above all else, he was ready to laugh again.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Morgan’s words blinked up at him for another moment and then began to fade away. Surprisingly, Wolfe felt better than he had in days. He was ready to head back inside and hear the rest of the story. In fact, instead of the overwhelming panic he had felt earlier, Chris found that he wanted very much to hear more about Thomas’s mechanical bull. He wanted to know more about whatever trouble Nic had gotten himself into with the Spaniards, and above all else, he was ready to laugh again._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had so much fun writing this fic, and I hope you guys had just as much fun reading it! It went on much longer than I had planned, but its time to finally wrap everything up so I can start telling a new story. Maybe one day there will be a one-shot in this verse where Santi and Wolfe decide to try out the mechanical bull for themselves? Anything is possible! Thanks for reading! :D

Glain Wathen was not laughing.

It wasn’t that she was worried, per se about Wolfe’s return, because Sergeant Wathen did not get worried. But she could tell that the steady tapping of her foot was driving Niccolo Santi half out of his mind.

“Sorry,” she muttered, even though she wasn’t the slightest bit sorry and it really wasn’t her fault that the foot tapping was making Santi want to flip the table and wrestle her into the ground. In fact, she wished he would. Wrestling Commander Santi would be a far more pleasurable pastime than the business of silent, stoic, sitting and waiting for Wolfe to come back, even if Santi was injured.

“_Il pranzo_.” Nic grunted at her and Glain found herself staring at the man as though he was speaking a foreign language. Then she realized that he was.

“Food?” Nic tried again, this time saving the Italian for Wolfe, who obviously understood and appreciated Santi’s penchant for muttering in his mother tongue.

Ugh, Glain tried to rid herself of the mental image that thought had conjured up. Santi and Wolfe speaking Italian to one another. Santi caressing a traumatized Wolfe while murmuring to him in Italian. Santi and Wolfe… No. Glain would rather claw her own eyes out than spend another second imagining what the two men got up to behind closed doors. Santi must have guessed at her expression, because he smirked at her and waggled his eyebrows a bit.

“Lunch, Glain, Lunch. Would you like something to eat?” Santi grinned, and Glain stared at him dubiously, still not sure if the camaraderie they had shared last night carried over into the peculiar inquisition that Wolfe was putting them both through today. 

“Fine,” she said, a bit more brusquely than was necessary. Glain didn’t like being vulnerable, and Santi knew it. Of course he knew, she argued within the confines of her own head. He had been there. He had been there too. He had been there last night when she had given in to the anger and frustration that had been building inside of her, and he had been there too. He knew because unlike the droves of well-meaning others with their useless platitudes, Santi had been _there_ too.

The two of them consumed a simple lunch consisting of a thick sandwich stuffed full of Italian meats, and a salad that Glain might have passed on if she hadn’t seen Santi scarf it down so enthusiastically. But she spent most of the midday meal watching the door for any sign that Wolfe was planning on returning. A foot nudged her boot beneath the table and Glain growled before she realized that it was only Santi.

“What?” She answered grumpily, not sure if she was more irritated that he had nudged her, or at her own response to a simple nudge.

“You didn’t kill her, Wathen.”

“Excuse me?” Glain felt her face flushing red for the second time in two days and she was on her feet before she even knew she was standing.

“Morgan’s death wasn’t your fault.” Santi’s head was down, so Glain couldn’t see his eyes, but she still wondered if the man could see the way her entire body suddenly seemed to be vibrating with tension. Glain wanted to hit something. She had thought they had purged all of her pain last night, but apparently she was still so very angry. She must have been still too long because a sharp clap between her eyes both startled her and dragged her back to the present.

“By all means,” a familiar voice drawled, “stand there and pass out while counting the wall tiles. Believe me when I say that no matter how long you choose to stare, their number does not change.”

Glain glared at Wolfe with narrowed eyes. The man had the most terrible habit of surprising her when she felt least prepared to deal with his acerbic wit. And how had he gotten through the door and past her without her seeing him at all? Glain looked over at Santi, but the look on his face quelled her rage and made her sigh instead. He appeared to be studying the man beside him with worried eyes and Glain could see that Santi was running a finger up and down Wolfe’s arm in a steady caress. 

“Sit down Glain,” Wolfe said. She sat. Her training refused to allow her to do otherwise. When that voice told her to sit down, her body obeyed. Wolfe stared at her without speaking for a moment, and the silence made her uncomfortable, it was an act of supreme willpower to keep her leg from jiggling restlessly. “I am not mad at you and Nic, I just want to hear the rest of the story. We don’t have to talk about anything else, but I do expect a thorough accounting of your whereabouts last night.”

Glain relaxed, curling her fingers around the mug of still warm tea and glancing back at the man sitting across the table. She supposed he did deserve to know, after all.

______________________________________

Wolfe saw the moment the girl let her guard down, tension draining out of her body as she allowed herself to lean straight-backed against the chair. He knew she was still struggling. In truth, he himself was still struggling. The fact was, in a perfect world he would simply kick the little chit out into the hallway so he could lean more fully into Santi’s caress. Wolfe shuddered. The wound was still fresh in all of them and they would continue to grieve in their own way.

“Speak.” Christopher Wolfe knew what kind of loyalty he inspired, and this afternoon he intended to wield every inch of that affection to help Glain lance the rest of the wound before infection set in. He watched the girl gather herself, swallow wetly, and reign in the emotions that were threatening to unravel her impeccable self control.

“What do you wish to know sir?”

Wolf glared at her. Now was not the time to try and circumvent him. “Just tell me what happened next, Wathen.” He didn’t need to threaten punishment if he didn’t receive the requested report, or if he should find that the reports accuracy need be called into question, the expectations were understood.

Nic cleared his throat. “I believe that we were just mentioning that Glain and I went to the Iron Tower with Jess and Thomas to see the new automata that Thomas completed.”

“Yes,” Glain added with a slight scoff, “it might not be the size of a dragon but the toy certainly makes you work for any satisfaction you manage to achieve.” She grinned at Santi and the two of them exchanged a rather suspicious look. Chris would have to ask Nic about that look later.

“And why,” Wolfe gathered himself to find the most tasteful words, “did Schreiber think it best to build the blasted thing in the _Tower_ and not in his workshop where it belongs?” Santi made a low shushing noise that Chris felt in his bones, and Nic began alternating with stroking his arm and drawing circular whorls on the soft skin just beneath his elbow. Wolfe shivered at the sensation, he couldn’t help it.

“Easy,” Glain replied, taking another large bite of sandwich before answering. “Henephdiddapacefahering!” She swallowed.

“What?” The two men stared at her incredulously, watching as she licked a bit of sausage juice off of her finger.

“He needed a large enough space for the ring. Plus, he wanted an obscurist to be nearby in case the beast decided to revolt.” Her face made her opinions on the matter abundantly clear.

Nic decided it was best that he cut in here, “Darling, the trouble didn’t start when we went to the tower, it began when we realized that Dario and his big mouth had informed the Spaniards of Schreiber’s toy. To be fair, I understand why they might still be a bit, unsettled —“ 

Wolfe scoffed, “Ha! Unsettled? Nic, unsettled is the way you feel when you haven’t been sufficiently _appreciated_ by me before bed. Enraged is a far more suitable word for the Spaniards who Dario successfully duped not too long ago, on your orders too I might add!” He frowned. Wolfe didn’t want to worry about Dario, but he couldn’t help it, the fool boy ignited a flame of worry in his chest whenever he tried to initiate one of his schemes. Khalila was a good balancing element for him. Chris stopped his inner monologue when he realized that Nic was still talking.

“So once they saw the ring, and sized up Glain’s Blue Dogs, they didn’t miss an opportunity to throw down a challenge as to who could stay on the damn thing the longest. Glain here,” Santi grinned again and slapped the girl on the back, “she gave her boys a rousing pep talk and sent the poor bastards straight into the line-up. Drunk as they were, they barely managed to stay on past 3-4 seconds each. Pathetic. “Not to be outdone, the Spaniards ponied up their pocket change and kept calling for “that little Welsh girl” to have a go.”

Wolfe blanched. He recognized that glitter in Santi’s eye, and he began to regret suggesting that Nic spend some time with the children without him. The man had a protective streak that rivaled his own, and from the looks of things, those Spaniards had gone out of their way to provoke him.

“So I did.” Glain was reclining in her chair now, balancing her boots on the bookshelf to her right, and looking far too pleased with herself.

“And how many seconds did you stay on that beast?” Wolfe asked drily.

It was Santi who answered, getting up from the table to pull a roll of cloth from his knapsack that was still on the flatbed that had been delivered last night. “Long enough for me to place a number of bets on our ‘little Welsh girl’ here.” He unwrapped the cloth and despite himself, Chris felt his mouth twitch and not quite gape open in surprise. “And long enough for me to win this.” The small fortunate of Spanish gold winked up at him from the table and it was enough to make Wolfe groan. No wonder Khalila had felt the need to send him a personal codex missive about the situation.

Wolfe wanted to, no, he needed to laugh. But he didn’t think it would send a good message to the two imbeciles who were seated across from him looking rather smug. He settled instead for a polite cough. But when he caught Nic’s eye, his partner smirked before quickly looking away, and Chris knew that Nic knew that he was more pleased than he was letting on.

After a few moments, Wolfe realized that neither one of them appeared willing to meet his eyes for very long. Hmmm. His eyes moved from Santi to Wathen and back. “What aren’t you saying?” Wolfe focused his attentions on Glain, his patented glare usually enough to make a grown man squirm. To her credit the girl merely stared at him, and though she was probably decidedly uncomfortable, she certainly didn’t squirm.

“The Spaniards challenged us to a _corrida de toros_, Sir.” She tacked on the Sir at the end as though it would cool the rage that Wolfe felt rising to the surface. Gone was the peace he had found outside in the garden. He saw red. He saw white. He saw actual stars floating before his eyes. Fuck! He was seeing the whole bloody flag! Of all the god-forsaken, stupid, imbecilic stunts they could possibly pull, this one was by far one of the most reckless, the most thoughtless, the most —

“Scholar,” Glain interrupted Wolfe’s internal rant, “Thomas only made one bull, so don’t worry it wasn’t a true _corrida._” Chris couldn’t even look at Nic.

“So, Sergeant Wathen,” Wolfe tried so very hard not to turn and study Santi’s face. “If Thomas only made one bull, then who did the _toreros_ fight in the ring?”

Glain muttered something inaudible.

“Speak up Wathen,” Wolfe said snidely, wondering if he truly wanted to know after all.

The girl took her feet down from the book shelf and sat up straighter in order to give an accurate report. “Santi and I trounced those Spanish bastards, Sir.” She looked over at Nic before continuing, who Wolfe was tickled to see gave her an approving nod. “We just couldn’t let them make any more insinuations against Dario.” Her face darkened, “And we couldn’t let them pollute Morgan’s memory. It was worth the blood and the bruising to see the looks on their faces after the bull turned on them and they screamed for their mothers like little girls.” Glain threw her head back and laughed. It was, Wolfe thought to himself, a rather dangerous sound. “You see,” Glain continued with a smile, “Thomas wasn’t too pleased with the Spaniards either as you can imagine. And for some reason, your obscurist father seems to like us as well.”

Wolfe felt rather warm inside, and it wasn’t the feeling of rising rage that had threatened to erupt at the thought of his former postulants stupidly participating in a Spanish bull-fight with a group of angry Spaniards. No, for the most part, it was the warmth of family, knowing that a slight to one of them would be addressed and handled as a slight to all.

“As for the moat, the moat was my fault, love.” Santi grasped the tips of Wolfe’s fingers and tangled their digits together. “Glain and I were a little too…”

“Exuberant?”

“Yes Wathen, we were rather enthusiastic in defense of our honor. But what I mean to say, is that we may have agreed to attempt to ride the bull straight to the Spanish Embassy. And its quite possible that I may have been the one of us who agreed to that. And it is also a high possibility that I may have accidentally and most embarrassingly fallen off of the automata after I lost control of the beast and it ran straight through the wall of the embassy moat before your father put it down.” Wolfe was most interested to note that a red flush had spread down Santi’s neck and it made Wolfe speculate how far down beneath his shirt the color might have gone.

“And of course I could not sit around idly after Commander Santi went and fell into the moat,” Glain grinned, “so I immediately tried to intercept to intercept the angry beast and continue the mission, but the blasted thing knocked me out straight away. The Blue Dogs said that it took three of ‘em each to lift me an Santi onto that hand cart they got from who knows where to bring us home. But it was worth it.”

“Damn straight it was!” Nic pumped his fist in the air and grinned back at Glain. The two of them looked so happy that Wolfe didn’t have it in him to burst their moment of pride. You’re getting soft, he thought to himself as he watched Glain preen beneath Nic’s attention. “Wait til next time Wathen, we’ll have Thomas build a few more beasts and we’ll beat the little shits gladiator style as well.”

“Now, now Niccolo.” It seemed like Wolfe might have to redirect the conversation after all. “At least we know how the fishey came to be on your person. Although I’m still not quite sure how it managed to survive.” Laughter filled the spaces around their little dinning room table and it made Wolfe’s heart lighter that it had felt in a long while. “Thank you,” Wolfe nodded to Glain, who was still basking in the adrenaline of a good, solid fight and the light of Santi’s freely-given praise. “Nic needs someone watching his back when he’s off doing stupid things!”

“Happy to help, Sir. But now that you’ve heard our version of the story, I’d best be off now. Scholar Wolfe, Lord Commander Santi,” She nodded to them, “Someone’s gotta check on the Blue Dogs after all.” Glain grinned again, and Wolfe could see that the weight of shadows had been chased off for a moment and she looked far more at ease then when he had woken her this morning. Good, he thought to himself. Very good.

Wolfe watched Santi stand, lean over and whisper something into the girl’s ear before sitting back at the table. Glain didn’t reply, only nodded solemnly and saluted him with a fist over her heart and a bow before slipping out the door.

“What did you say to her?” Wolfe couldn’t help himself, he had to know.

“None of your business Christopher.” The other man smirked at him knowingly.

“Nic!” Chris fought the urge to pout, his lover knew that it would drive Wolfe crazy until he figured it out.

“Come here,” Nic held open his arms and oogled Wolfe shamelessly. “Come help me finish what we started last night.” Wolfe sighed, the infuriating man did paint a rather rakish picture, sprawled as he was in the kitchen chair. But beneath his loose fitting tunic was a thick, medica-issue bandage that hid a rather nasty gash, and Wolfe knew for a fact that Santi was far too tired to do much more than sit and bait him.

“Christopher.” Something in Nic’s voice made Chris look at him, really look at him. And what he saw made him want to stride over and kiss the living daylights out of Nic until neither of them could breathe. So he did. 

In a few moments Christopher Wolfe found himself kneeling between the knees of Captain Niccolo Santi, being kissed breathless until the latter seized the former in an almost painful embrace. From his position against Nic’s chest Wolfe could hear his lover’s heart beating steadily faster, and he could feel him trembling against him. Santi rested his cheek on the top of Wolfe’s head and when he spoke, Chris thought he could feel his voice vibrating down deep inside of him.

“_Amore mio._ If you must know, I told her, I said, ‘Glain, Morgan is gone. Morgan is gone but you are still here. Live. Live. Live.” Nic’s breathing had gotten a little ragged, and Chris wondered how long it would take for either of them to process through their own grief, let alone all of the children. He hummed a little in the back of his throat, a tune that he knew would make Santi laugh. When it did, Wolfe could still hear the hint of tears even in the warm sound.

Nic curled his fingers into Wolfe’s hair possessively. “Chris, she’s gone now. Morgan is gone but you and I are still here. Still alive. Still in love. Still here.” Nic released him from the embrace and pulled both of them up to their feet in one smooth motion that Wolfe knew must have caused Santi considerable pain. “Christopher.” Wolfe didn’t say anything, because for once, there was nothing that needed saying. Nic held out his arms and smiled big and wide when Chris stepped right into them, “Dance with me?” And in that moment, there was nothing that Christopher Wolfe wanted more.

So he did.

_Finire._

**Author's Note:**

> _"Santi shook his head. “Even half-unconscious, she fought like a devil. She’s worth her weight in gold.”"_ \-- Smoke and Iron


End file.
